Kiss of the Fire
by star.flash.17
Summary: “Fancying you is not a crime, Hermione,” he said, still laughing. Hermione listened to the way her name rolled off his tongue and decided she rather liked it. RHr oneshot, summer before book 7. Ron and Hermione finally let it all come out. R&R!


**Kiss of the Fire**

by lunarouge

Ship: Ron/Hermione

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a/n: Another somewhat fluffy one-shot of Ron and Hermione before the start of the war. I own absolutely nothing but the idea, and even then I wonder…

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The Weasley Burrow of Ottery St. Catchpole, usually bustling with activity, was near-empty and quiet. The only occupants resided in the attic room on the top floor—one gazing pensively out the window into the setting sun, the other, flat on his back upon his bed, staring at his now-blank ceiling.

A sigh came from near the window, which Ronald Weasley matched with his own. He propped his head up on his hands.

"What is it, Hermione?"  
She sighed again. "Nothing."

Ron fought back a snort. This was a favorite tactic of Hermione Granger's—she would prod him to ask again in order to verify that he was really listening. Bearing this in mind, Ron merely said, "All right, then," and continued to stare at the ceiling. He no longer had the Chudley Cannons to comfort him…Hermione begged and pleaded and then rather forcibly took them down. They lay somewhat scarred in a corner.

Five seconds later, Hermione sighed.

"I just don't understand…"  
"Well there's a first," Ron said cheerfully, on his feet now and rolling up his beloved posters in order to hide his mounting laughter at Hermione's apparent irritation.

"How could it be…?" she tried again.  
"Ah, but how could it not?" replied Ron, snapping on rubber bands to keep the posters shut. 

Still facing the window, Hermione said stiffly, "Ronald Weasley, you are _such_ an insensitive wart."

Ron laughed victoriously and wandered over to her.

"And you, Hermione Granger, need to get to the point."

She stayed facing the window, as if looking at him were too hard. Ron stood over her shoulder, watching the sun seep into the hillside.

"My parents haven't seen me since last Christmas. I understand they're upset, but I sent them that letter two weeks ago with Pigwidgeon…and they still haven't written back. Don't…don't they miss me?"

She wiped away a tear under the pretense of brushing hair out of her eyes. Ron saw through this immediately, and cautiously wound his long arms around her waist in a hug.

Hermione tensed suddenly, then relaxed almost as quickly, realizing she felt safe in the wake of these arms.

"Of course they miss you," said Ron sensibly. "You're their only daughter. You just have to give them time to accept it. That was a hard letter to swallow."

Ron thought back to a few nights before the end of term, sitting in the dying firelight of the common room with Hermione, who was furiously smoothing tears off her cheeks so they would not cause her fastidious writing to bleed upon the parchment. They had been up until dawn, reliving everything through the drying ink…

"That was one of the most difficult things I've ever done," Hermione said in a quavering voice. "Told them I wasn't coming home…and all the reasons why."

"It's also one of the bravest," Ron stated firmly, before they both fell into thoughtful silence. 

Ron studied Hermione as she stood tucked in his arms; examined the way the reddish glow of the evening kissed her cheeks and neck, the column of her throat, and wrestled with her hopelessly bushy, toffee-colored hair, all swept up into a messy little bun atop her head…

except for one strand.

One roguish lock hung just behind her ear, curled like a little spool of thread. Hermione shook her head slightly and the curl shuddered too, bobbing left and right and grazing her bare shoulder.

Ron stared at it, mesmerized by its movement and the way it stroked her silk-like skin, kissing the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

And suddenly, Ron did the same. 

He pushed the hair aside and pressed his lips gently to her smooth flesh, felt the goose bumps erupt beneath his mouth a moment later. Hermione's quick intake of air made him pull back as though scalded. 

She turned round to face him, still caught in his arms, her eyes ablaze with some sort of fire. For one wild moment Ron thought she was going to slap him; he screwed up his eyes and said "I'm sorry!" quite loudly; he knew he shouldn't have done it, that it was stupid, that she would not want to cross that line of friendship more so than they already had—

But instead, Hermione let out a soft, "oh" and smiled warmly, her eyes getting crinkly around the edges in that way he liked. She leaned in and kissed him very quickly near the mouth, biting her lip in a nervous giggle as Ron blinked, bemused, processing what had happened.

"So…erm…you're not mad?" he asked finally, the blush upon his cheeks making him look about two years old.

"No." Hermione said quite simply. "I'm not mad. Although I suppose I have a very good reason I could be."

"Why's that?"

"It's taken you seven years to do something like that."

Ron gave her a lopsided grin. "Who said I've been _wanting_ to do that for seven years?" He teased, pulling on her hand so they came to sit on his bed together.

Hermione expertly shot one eyebrow straight upward. "Please, Ron. It's only been obvious to the entire school since…_ever_."  
"How eloquently stated, thanks."  
"That was a direct quote, for your information!" Hermione countered, very much enjoying herself now, all past traces of tears gone.

Bravely, Ron scooted over so their knees were touching. Somehow it was more intense than any other time before. Hermione looked down at the hem of his frayed shorts, which tickled the top of her thigh.

"From who?" Ron asked, a bit more quietly than before.  
"From whom," Hermione corrected out of habit, not really thinking. She forced her gaze to meet his. "From McGonagall."  
"_McGonagall_?"  
"Yes. She pulled me into her office the year we both became Prefects, and told me that she would have absolutely no hanky-panky from the pair of us, no matter how long everyone had known you fancied me."

Ron opened his mouth as if to object, but decided otherwise. "I'm not even going to try to deny it anymore, Hermione."

Now Hermione's mouth hung open. "You're…you're _not_?"

Surprised, Ron shook his head. "What's the point? Everyone knows I do. I _fancy_ you."

Time stood still for a moment.   
Hermione felt her heart skip a beat.   
Ron felt a tad lightheaded. He'd never dreamed of telling her outright.

He cleared his throat. "You've known, haven't you? I mean, who else could get me to bring down my Cannons posters?"  
"Well, yes…I mean, you were a textbook case, Ron, but…" Hermione faltered to a stop.

"What?" Ron said, raising his brow this time. Hermione fiddled with the hem of her skirt.  
"It's just…I never expected you to confess it, that's all." She admitted in a small voice. Ron laughed.

"Fancying you is not a _crime_, Hermione," he said, still laughing. Hermione listened to the way her name rolled off his tongue and decided she rather liked it. "Unless you're McLaden, that is. Bloody prat."

Hermione allowed him this snarky remark, as she had only gone out with Cormac to make Ron jealous in the first place.

As if he had read her mind, Ron added, "I know your ways, Hermione. I know you dated him to make me jealous, just like you'd write your letters to Vicky in front of my face. I didn't see why you did, though…"

He trailed off, giving her the perfect opening to "confess her crime" as well.

"Ifancyyoutoo,Ron." She said this very quickly and blushed scarlet. 

Ron's ears turned red. "Sorry?"

"I…I fancy you too, Ron." 

"Oh. That's what I thought you'd said."

They averted each other's eyes for quite some time. The sun had set completely when Hermione put her hand over his.

"Ron?"  
"Yeah?" he asked, looking at her.  
"I think I more than just fancy you."

Ron sat up straight. He cautiously reached one arm around her waist and pulled her close. "How do you figure?" he teased. "Did you read it somewhere?"  
He was treated to the sunshine of her smile as her finger prodded him in the chest. "No. I just know."

"Guess what?" he whispered.  
"What?" she whispered back.

"I love you, too."

Hermione laughed softly and tucked her head onto Ron's shoulder. He pretended to be very highly offended.

"I bear my _soul_ to you and you mock me?"  
"No, Ron. I just think it's funny that we admit something as deep as love for each other, but we've never kissed…"

She drew back to look at him. There was a certain softness in his eyes. "My mistake," he murmured, and gently, placing a hand on the nape of her neck, Ron pulled Hermione in to kiss her gently on the lips.

Every nerve in her body was on fire, she was surely blushing from to the roots of her hair, this truly couldn't be happening—

"_ARTHUR!_"

Springing apart as though electrocuted, Ron and Hermione turned to the doorway to see none other than Molly Weasley standing there with a watery smile. 

"Mum!" Ron cried, flushing deep crimson. Mr. Weasley came to stand by his wife's side, clutching the stitch in his chest.

"Oh, Arthur, he finally did it!"  
"_Mum!_"  
Mrs. Weasley broke into happy sobs. Hermione started.

Ron looked from his mother to his father and back again.   
"Sorry, son, but you have no idea how long your mother has waited to see this."  
"See _what_, exactly?"

Hermione could sense Ron's fiery temper flaring but for once did nothing to stop it.

"Why, you and Hermione together, of course! We'll just go now, so you can…carry on…" Mr. Weasley shut the door with a half-encouraging, half-stern look on his face, leading his wife back down stairs as she sniffled into a handkerchief.

Hermione burst out laughing. "Of all the times I've imagined this to happen…I don't think I could have ever dreamed this one up!"  
Ron looked furious. "I don't believe her! She doesn't even have the decency to knock! Fred and George told me she had a pool going but I thought they were just being twits—"  
"Ron…"  
"And they swore to me she'd been waiting since the first summer you stayed here—"  
"Ron."  
"For me to admit I fancied you but like I said, I thought they were just being twits so—"  
"Ron!" Hermione yelled, seizing him by the shoulders.  
"What?"  
"Shut up," she said, and proceeded to kiss him again.

After some time of this, Ron looked down with open fondness on Hermione.   
"So, does this make you my girl, or what?"  
Hermione chuckled and glanced up at him through her lashes. "Sorry, you can't just lasso me up like cattle, Mr. Weasley."  
"But I've already branded you," he joked. "Here," he said, kissing her neck, "and here…and here…"  
"Stop," she laughed, enjoying his game.

"Yes, I've decided."  
"Decided what?" Hermione asked.  
"Two things."  
"Which are?"  
"One: I definitely like making you laugh more than making you mad, and two: I can't stand to let any other bloke get his hands on you. Please, Hermione Jane Granger, be my girl?"  
"Well…" she said, pretending to be unsure.  
"Hermione! Bearing my soul here, remember?"

She laughed once again. "Yes, Ron. I'll be your girl."  
"Even though we're going to war soon?" He asked in serious tones. Hermione stopped to reflect on that.

"Even then. I need someone to fight for, don't I?"  
"Not if I fight for you first."  
"How about we fight for each other?" she asked. "Although, you know, we really did choose the most inopportune time to come out with all this."  
Ron snorted. "To hell with it. Evil's never going away, whether it's You-Know-Who or someone new. And I'm not giving you up just because it's convenient for him. As far as I'm concerned, I'm seven years too late."

"Well, I guess we'll just have to make up that time while we have the chance, won't we?" Hermione said coyly. It was amazing how naturally flirting with Ron came to her.

"Of course," Ron replied rather coyly himself, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.   
Hermione toyed with a tendril of his hair like flame, knowing it was dangerous to be in love with Voldemort on Harry's neck, but Ron was right. Evil was never going away, so what was the point of inconveniencing herself? She looked at Ron and smiled. It would be trying, but she'd been through worse. 

Besides, she liked the taste of him, his essence, his faults. She liked him completely and wholly, for all he was and was not. She liked how his temper came in spurts and how his wisdom was just below his surface. She liked his freckles and too long arms and brilliant hair. She liked how they clashed. He was fire—hot, smoky, liable to jump out at you but beautiful to watch grow. She was water—smooth, calm, flowing, gentle enough to nurture yet strong and dangerous in floods. She liked how they fit, like two oddly-shaped puzzle pieces you'd never expect to go together. She liked how he took his own risks but stayed close enough for comfort.

She, the storm of the water, loved him, the kiss of the fire. And that was enough.

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a/n: so…please review!


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